


I'm That Voice That You're Hearing In The Hall

by brokenhighways



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunk Sex, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/pseuds/brokenhighways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur/Eames; in which Arthur is a computer programmer who likes his privacy, and Eames, his new neighbour with the devastatingly sexy English accent, just won’t leave him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm That Voice That You're Hearing In The Hall

**Author's Note:**

> My first non-SPN/J2 AU/RPF/something that isn't Supernatural fic ever! Eeek. And I'd only seen Inception once (back in 2010) when I wrote the first half of this. So yeah. Also, unbeta'd so sorry in advance for any mistakes.
> 
>  **ETA** : Thank you to everyone who's left kudos! I really appreciate it :)

 

# 1.

Arthur meets his new neighbour – Eames – shortly after midnight, on a warm Wednesday. Needless to say, that time’s a little inconvenient anyway, but more so for Arthur because he woke up fifteen minutes ago to use the john, and he’s been tossing and turning ever since. It’s been a long day of coding, beating teenage losers on X-Box 360 and avoiding a string of Skype calls from his boss. It’s been a long and _tiring_ day, if anything, he’s grateful for the knock on the door, because it at least gives his brain something else to focus on. On the other hand, whoevers at the door is sort of disturbing his sleep, a matter that Arthur doesn’t take lightly.

He opens the door and is presented with a half-naked man who’s currently standing in his doorway. Arthur’s greeting gets lost somewhere on his tongue as he tracks the stray drops running down his neighbours chest, and admires the shape of his firm pectorals. There are tattoos spread liberally on the man’s chest, and a thick, intricate design one of his arms. Arthur decides not judge his new neighbour for the questionable designs. His gaze travels down, and he takes in the towel wrapped around the man’s waist and the bare feet. He looks up slowly, to see that this seemingly perfect specimen has short brown hair, that’s currently damp, and amused grey eyes, amused grey eyes that are currently aimed at _him._

Shit.

“Uh, sorry,” Arthur says as he shakes himself out of his stupor. “I’m Arthur, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, mate,” the man says, and Arthur has to stop himself from physically swooning. Liking men with English accents might be a bit of a cliché, but fuck it, Arthur _loves_ the accent. “The name’s Eames, I’ve just moved in across the hall, and I’ve only gone and locked myself out.”

 _Oh. My. God i_ s basically Arthur’s reaction in his head. He’s not sure that it’s befitting of a twenty eight year old man, who at least pretends to be a responsible adult (when he’s not being a social recluse, that is).

“Okay…” he says slowly. “And?” Eames’ face drops slightly and Arthur wonders if this is one of those instances where his tone is being heard as something that he didn’t intend it to be. According to his best (and only) friend Ariadne, he has much charisma and presence as Clint Eastwood’s imaginary chair.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he has no idea what that means.

“The landlord – Yusuf, was it? - said that you had the master set of keys, it’d be lovely if you could help me out,” Eames says with a grin, before he readjusts his towel. Arthur can’t help wishing that it falls before he finds the key. Of course, _that_ thought leaves him flustered and in order to regain some composure he says,

“I’ll have to check with Yusuf first.” His voice sounds blank and emotionless, and really, Ariadne’s going to be pissed that none of her life classes are rubbing off on him. As Eames grunts in response, Arthur can’t help wishing that Eames would rub off on him.

He’s pretty sure that he’s blushing as he rushes to find his cell phone.

# 2.

Eames knocks on his door again the next day, and Arthur’s disappointed to see that he’s fully clothed. Eames grins at him, his eyes crinkling a little, and Arthur’s stomach feels a little fluttery.

“What do you want?” he says shortly and for some reason, Eames just grins harder.

“I’ve run out of milk,” he says cheerfully, as if he’s announcing that he’s just won the lottery. Arthur contemplates whether or not Eames is on drugs. “And I could murder a cuppa. I tell you, I probably should have gotten here a few weeks before I started my new job. I’m knackered!” Arthur blinks at the man and that annoying-yet-sexy smile is back again. As much as Arthur wants to engage in conversation is brain is pretty much yelling _abort! Abort_! So he just clears his throat gently.

“I’ll get you the milk,” he says slowly. “And then you can murder as many cuppas as you like.”

Eames has the audacity to wink at him, and Arthur, well, it definitely does _not_ make him grin like a loon for ten minutes after Eames leaves.

# 5.

He doesn’t see Eames again until three days later, when there’s yet another knock at his apartment door. It’s not even his new neighbour at the door, but Arthur catches a glimpse of him when he opens the door to Ariadne. Eames possibly feels Arthur’s glance at him, because he turns and nods, his expression looking more sober than it has in all of the times that Arthur has seen him.

He wonders what that’s about.

“He is _gorgeous_ ,” Ariadne squeals when Eames tells her what’s been happening. “And it sounds like he’s into you.”

“Right,” Arthur says blandly. “My new neighbour is crushing on me after five days, and you know this after seeing him for .2 seconds?”

“I said that it _sounds_ like he likes you,” Ariadne says with an amused laugh. “And it seems like it’s not one-sided. You might want to work on your appearance a little, try leaving the house or something. Your skin needs some fresh air.”

“That’s what windows are for,” Arthur says and for some reason she laughs.

# 6.

Arthur frowns as the music pulsates around the room, and into his ears. He’s not sure how Ariadne managed to convince him to come out, but he’s sorely regretting his decision. And, he really wants his tie back. Apparently a tie isn’t appropriate for a night of questionable decisions, shots and grinding on sweat covered bodies. None of which Arthur intends to participate in.

Well, not until he spots Eames anyway.

“Arthur, darling! Let me buy you a drink.” Eames sounds as though he’s already had a few drinks, and honestly, Arthur thinks that it’s a little suspicious that Ariadne is suddenly nowhere to be seen. She went to powder her nose twenty minutes ago, and Arthur’s not sure how complex that process actually is, but logic tells him that it shouldn’t take more than five minutes.

“I’m not your darling,” he attempts to yell over the – truly _terrible_ – music. Of course Eames mishears him and yells back,

“Aw, you can be darling if you want to, Arthur. I wouldn’t mind.” Arthur thinks about clarifying but Eames slams down a tiny shot glass in front of him and tells him to drink up. For the sake of his sanity, Arthur does the shot. Perhaps the club will seem better with a little alcohol in his system.

An hour later and _everything_ seems better. Especially Eames’ mouth which is wet from his drink, pink and shiny and just—

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts out and Eames turns to grin at him suavely. It’s kind of undermined by the fact that he has a pink umbrella tucked into his hair. Arthur can’t quite remember how it got there.

“Do you really want to?” Eames asks, and Arthur might be drunk, but he still has wits about me.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.” Eames laughs, his cheeks taking on a pink tinge, and Arthur steps forward in what he hopes is a seductive manner, and presses his lips to Arthur’s, tastes the cherry flavour of his drink.

The last thing he remembers is feeling Eames’ hard chest colliding into his.

# 7.

When Arthur wakes up the next morning, he realises that he doesn’t have a shirt on. It’s not that weird, he tells himself. He was probably just hot. He wouldn’t have done anything stupid like—

“Morning, darling,” Eames mumbles from beside him.

Eames is in my bed, Arthur thinks, as he looks up at the ceiling. It’s not his ceiling. And this definitely doesn’t feel like his bed. This means that…

 _He’s in Eames’ bed_.

Seconds later when Arthur runs out of Eames’ apartment, he takes the comforter with him.

# 9.

It takes Ariadne two days to show up, and when she does, Arthur’s in the middle of getting chewed out by his boss – Dom Cobb, a man notorious for not really being bothered by much at all. As far as Arthur knows, he lives in France in a plush and luxurious house with his wife, Mal. He makes Arthur send over his codes for the programs he’s working on every couple of days, and apparently Arthur screwed up something in the last batch he sent.

After his tirade, Dom sighs warily, “It’s Eames isn’t it? He’s distracting you.”

Arthur starts. How does Dom know Eames? He wonders if Dom is watching him via cameras or something. He’s always been an overly suspicious kind of boss.

He goes ahead and asks, because he’s pretty sure that spying is some sort of violation of his contract.

“Didn’t you check your Facebook inbox?” Dom says with another sigh, like he already knows the answer. Arthur’s not even sure that he was the one who set his Facebook up; he makes a note to ask Ariadne about it later. “Eames is a security consultant, he works with the company. He told me that he’d introduced himself to you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Arthur says, “He did. Several times.”

“Did he now?” Dom says with a suggestive note in his voice. Arthur imagines that Dom is sitting by his phone laughing as he hangs up.

“Was that Dom?” Ariadne says as she flicks through the channel. “I wanted to talk to him about a pay rise. Anyway, come on, I saw you and Eames getting pretty hot and heavy the other night. What happened?”

“He bought me some drinks and at some point, I kissed him,” Arthur says. “He kissed me back. And we had sex.”

“Sounds romantic,” Ariadne says sarcastically. “So are you guys dating?”

“No,” Arthur says with a puzzled look on his face. “I haven’t seen him since I ran out of his apartment, with his comforter, which I’ve been meaning to give back to him.” Does the fact that he hasn’t make Arthur seem weird? Because he’s washed it, dried it and folded it and is planning to return it, he just hasn’t had that time is all.

“You stole his comforter?” Ariadne begins to giggle uncontrollably and Arthur can only stare at her in bemusement. He decides not to tell her that he left all of his discarded clothes behind. She would only just mock his pain.

# 12.

Five days after he wakes up in bed with Eames, there’s a knock on his door around seven pm. Arthur locks his computer, and goes to answer the door. Eames is standing there, with his usual grin in place. Arthur raises an eyebrow warily.

“What do you want?” Eames raises his hands, and Arthur spots the neat bundle of clothes with a cupcake placed on top of them.

“Just wanted to give you this,” Eames replies. “I’m keeping your shirt, thought it was only fair after you nicked my duvet.” Arthur blinks at the flirty look that Eames throws him.

Eames likes him, and he obviously like Eames in return. Why does he keep on putting his foot in his mouth?

“Why is there a cupcake on top of it?” Arthur asks. Eames winks.

“I’m trying to woo you, darling,” he replies. “Is it working?”

Arthur shuts the door in his face. And then he opens it again, and takes the pile, ignoring the smirk on Eames’ face. “Thanks.”

He catches a glimpse of what looks like a surprised look on Eames’ face. The thing is, even if Eames is trying to woo him, Arthur is completely un-woo-able. Spontaneously invented words aside, Arthur’s always been terrible at the whole dating thing. They all start off the same way, with what Ariadne calls “The Chase”, in which Arthur supposedly makes (insert guy) work hard for a chance at dating him. An opinion the clashes quite ferociously with the truth: Arthur genuinely wishes that said guys would leave him alone. It’s not that he doesn’t like them; he just hates the awkwardness and uncertainty of it all. Ariadne claims that’s where the magic of romance lies, to which Arthur’s always grateful that he’s pragmatic.

Until now that is, because he certainly doesn’t want Eames to leave him alone.

# 14.

Eames shows up two weeks after Arthur meets him, with two raw steaks, a bag of potatoes (or “spuds”, as Eames calls them), and some vegetables. Arthur lets him in for some ungodly reason, and he can only manage a raised eyebrow when Eames claims that his electricity has gone out.

Figuring that a cooked meal trumps the grilled cheese he would have had for dinner, he allows Eames to take over his kitchen. His mouth goes dry when Eames shucks off his sweater and he catches sight of the grey t-shirt that shows off Eames well defined muscles and fantastic arms. That invokes memories of their night together and Arthur remembers how perfect that body had felt underneath his hands.

He remembers all too well, and eventually he’s forced to pour himself a glass of ice cold water.

“Is something the matter, darling,” Eames says, and even though being called _darling_ should be ridiculous, it sends an excited trill down Arthur’s body. Still, he can’t let Eames know that.

“I’m not your darling,” he says but the look on Eames’ face tells Arthur that he’s not fooling him. Dinner is ready soon after and Arthur’s busies himself with stuffing his face. He doesn’t realise that he’s making noises until Eames nudges him with a smirk on your face.

“I haven’t heard those sounds since our night together,” he says. “Does this mean that you’re enjoying yourself?”

Arthur really hates the way that Eames keeps making him blush.

Dinner is an unusually quiet affair, none of the hardcore flirting Arthur had been expecting makes an appearance, and while he’s a little disappointed, and his gratefulness outweighs that. Eames is kind of nice to talk to when he’s not smirking, winking lewdly and calling Arthur his ‘darling’.

Arthur’s kind of disheartened when Eames leaves – after refusing to let him wash up – without so much as kiss goodnight. Clearly Eames is ruining his life.

# 16.

Two days after Eames cooks for him, Arthur is disturbed by some noise in the hallway around six pm. He cracks a smile as he imagines Eames pondering who's making the _bloody racket_ outside. And then he freezes and wonders when he started _imagining_ shit that Eames would do or say. It's possible that Eames is inhibiting his ability to think straight. He's tempted to call Ariadne to discuss this, but he's not really in the mood to be laughed at.

So he decides to spy instead, and he moves up to the peephole on his door and well _peeps_ through. Eames has his door open and he's embracing someone. A very male someone, and Arthur's suddenly consumed with a feeling that he doesn't want to name. Eames laughs at something his friend says, and without thinking he grabs his wallet and keys and wrenches his door open. He's not voluntarily leaving his apartment just so he can glare at the scene; he just...needs some fucking ice cream.

Well, that's what he tells himself. He slams his door shut and Eames looks up, there's a teasing look in his eyes.   
"Alright Arthur?" He asks, ever present grin in place. He doesn't answer, he just huffs and strides past Eames and his friend. By the time he makes it to his car, there's a text waiting for him. 

_> Don't worry Arthur, there's only room for 1 darling in my life :) that's u btw :P_

After saving Eames number, he deletes the text in a fit of rage. 

# 17.

In the end he caves and tells Ariadne about the encounter and predictably, she is no help whatsoever. She listens to Arthur's rant carefully, her eyes lighting up as he tells her about all the scandalous things that Eames has done, as well as the presence of the man at Eames’ door.   
"So you're jealous?" She snorts at him, and Arthur stops to consider this. 

He is definitely is not _jealous._

"Jealous?" He echoed, "Do me a favour. He is the most annoying, infuriating person that I've ever met. I'm pretty sure that I hate him. Like the burning fire of a thousand suns hate." His phone buzzes then, and Arthur looks down at it. It's a text from Eames. 

_> I knocked ur door, but ur not in. Guess ill see u later, darling ;)_

Arthur smiles despite himself, and momentarily forgetting the fact that Ariadne is sitting right next to him. 

"The goofy grin on your face really shows how much you hate him, Arthur," she says airily.  Arthur blinks, as he stares down at his phone and runs through the last seventeen days in his mind. "Okay," he says slowly. "Okay. I like Eames. What do I do now?" The devious look on Ariadne's face scares him. 

# 18.

By the next evening, Arthur finds himself with a new haircut, a new set of clothes and a sizeable dent in his bank balance. According to Ariadne, he has to "dress to impress" and make an effort to fulfil his potential attractiveness. Idly, he wonders if she realises that a. She sounds like an out-dated edition of _Cosmo_ and b. He's not actually taking any of her advice on board. It's not that he doesn't want to; it is just easier to drift off and think about familiar grey eyes, and that _voice_.

Arthur figures that she would understand.

# 25.

Arthur doesn't see Eames for a week. No calls. No texts. No emails; not that Eames has his email address, but still, Arthur makes a valiant effort to check his inbox several times a day. Apart from angry emails from Dom wondering if Arthur’s gone mad, there’s nothing. 

Eventually he caves in and fires off a text to Eames. _Where are you?_

There’s no reply for about an hour, not that Arthur is counting or anything, but then his phone buzzes violently and he snatches it up so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash.

_Away on business, love. Y, d’ya miss me?_

_No_ , Arthur replies, and within twenty seconds his phone is buzzing with a new text.

_I miss u :)_

Eames _misses_ him. Given that Arthur’s been sitting around for a week waiting for Eames to get in contact, it’s safe to say that he misses Eames right back. Once, just this once, he decides to throw Eames a bone.

_Fine. I miss you too._

He gets a _< 3 _ in response, mere seconds after he sends the message.

# 27.

When Eames gets back, the first thing he does is knock on Arthur’s door. He’s dressed in a sharp grey suit, white shirt and a black tie and Arthur’s heart kind of stops. Of course, Eames doesn’t notice this as he bundles past Arthur and slumps down onto his couch. By the time Arthur’s brain is back online, Eames has loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes and he’s commandeering Arthur’s couch.

“Are you alright, pet?” Eames asks as Arthur takes his place on the armchair. He’s looking at Arthur intensely, as if he trying to convey another message but Arthur doesn’t grasp it.

“Uh, y-yeah,” he stammers. And seriously, he’s _stammering_ now?” “You?”

Eames sighs, “I’m bloody fed up. I don’t understand why Cobb keeps on expecting work from these incompetent people. Honestly, this latest bloke, Saito, he’s hired me because there’s been a breach in his security in the past few months. Of course, he’s in complete denial and he starts banging on about how his head of security is a top man, excellent at his job.”

“So why did he hire you in the first place?” Arthur asks, because while he has no idea what Eames is talking about, he’s just happy that Eames is _talking_.

“Because he bloody well isn’t good at his job!” Eames says emphatically. “It took me all of five minutes to find twenty different blind spots, and deduce that his head of security was the breach. Only an idiot would leave those places uncovered, or a sycophant who’s after more cash.”

“Saito, you say?” Arthur says. “I think I designed his security system.”

“You did indeed, love, and it is marvellous, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Arthur says dryly. “Possibly the hallway.”

“Of course, darling,” Eames says fondly with a rueful smile that does things to Arthur’s insides. He doesn’t want to use the word _liquefy_ , because he’s not a main character in some dude-lit book, but the sentiment remains all the same.

“So what happened in the end?” Arthur asks.

“He offered me a job, didn’t he?” Eames says with a laugh. “As if I’d willingly work for a plonker like that, he’s got more money than sense. And Cobb would probably haunt me in my dreams if I leave before acquiring Robert Fischer as a client.”

“How did you get into security anyway?”

“Ah well, you know what they say, _set a thief to catch a thief_ ,” Eames replies and Arthur’s eyes widen. Eames gives him a pointed look, as if he’s waiting for Arthur to challenge him. But Arthur doesn’t because the past is the past, and it has no bearing on the future. So he says nothing, just nods, and the appreciative look in Eames’ eyes makes it worth it.

At the end of the night, after a couple of hours of talking – about everything and anything - Eames is snoring softly on the couch. He covers Eames with the comforter from _That Night_ and quietly makes his way to bed.

# 31.

Eames has been nothing but _friendly_ ever since their night together. That is the realisation that Arthur comes to when he ponders why the flirting seems to have just stopped. Eames still pesters him relentlessly, but instead of coy smiles and lewd winks, it’s been tired grins and bleary eyes. Apparently they’re BFFs now and Eames expects Arthur to listen to him bitch about how none of his employers seem to possess _a bloody brain that actually functions properly._

This, as Arthur explains to Ariadne one morning, is not what Arthur wants out of his friendship with Eames. Not that they’re _friends_ , Eames just…refuses to stop turning up at Arthur’s apartment.

“Arthur, it’s obvious,” Ariadne says with a sigh that implies that she thinks he’s being stupid. Usually, she’s not wrong, but still – Arthur resents the sentiment. “He likes you, and he’s made his move – _repeatedly_. The ball is in your court.”

“Seriously?” Arthur says, because he’s told her what Eames is like. Eames is brash, loud, exuberant and confident, why the hell would he _wait_ for Arthur to ask him out.

 _You did kiss him first_ , a voice in his head supplies unhelpfully and Arthur steadfastly ignores it.

“You’re not exactly the most uh, _readable_ person,” Ariadne says with a shrug. “And you did run out of him after you guys sex – which by the way, you haven’t told me about in enough detail. Mama needs some words to go with the pretty picture that the two of you no doubt make.”

Arthur hopes that there’s enough horror conveyed in his expression.

“Firstly, please _never_ refer to yourself as _Mama_ again,” he replies. “Secondly, what do you mean I’m not the most readable person? I kissed him, we had sex, and I let him make me dinner. I practically bought a new wardrobe so I could impress him, I told him that I _missed_ him – I’m not sure how much more obvious I need to be.”

“It’s simple,” Ariadne says. “You make the first move or wait around for him to fall in love with someone else and have 2.5 kids and live happily ever after, while you die alone in front of your computer – in your underwear.”

Arthur doesn’t really see the need for overdramatic statements such as those ones, but he concedes her point.

# 32.

“Have you sorted things out with Eames?” Dom says when Arthur calls him the next day. Arthur blinks. What is he supposed to be sorting out with Eames? Besides the whole, we-had-sex-and-I-kind-of-like-you-so-maybe-we-should-date thing – which Arthur still needs to straighten out in his head, so that he doesn’t make a total fool of himself? “Look, you’re my best programmer, and he’s my best security consultant. You’ve been sending me crap for the past month, and he’s been pestering me with questions about you. How am I supposed to know what cologne you wear? Or what your favourite breakfast food is? Or whether or not you enjoy any of those Fast Five Furious movies?!”

“It’s Fast _and_ Furious,” Arthur says. “Personally, I think while the first one has its merits, the entire franchise is a wa—“

“—Yeah, I don’t give a shit, Arthur,” Dom interrupts. “Please just do something about this so that when I speak to you both next, I get some reasonable conversation out of you.”

“Uh, okay, boss.”

“Oh and by the way, Eames is crazy about you,” Dom adds. “Crazy in the sense that I had to nix him showing up at your place with a monkey that plays the violin.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Dom says hurriedly.  “Just do something before he calls me asking me for more _advice_. I’m not a relationship counsellor; I’m the guy who’s seriously considering firing you for being a _nuisance._ ”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Arthur argues. “You’d fire me, but not Eames?”

“He’s still damn good at what he does,” Dom says. “Whereas all I’ve gotten from you in the past three weeks are 13 emails asking me what his first name is.”

Arthur is nothing if not persistent when he needs to be.

# 40.

Eight days later when Arthur goes to knock on Eames’ door. It springs open in his face, and Eames’ bustles out quickly. His eyes widen when he spots Arthur, and he freezes. Arthur barely catches the apprehensive look in Eames’ eyes before it morphs into a teasing glint and he smiles.

“Arthur!” he says jovially, as if seeing Arthur has just brightened his day considerably.

Sort of like the way seeing Eames has just brightened _Arthur’s_ day considerably.

“Am I still your darling?” he asks, not bothering to recite the long, drawn out spiel he’d written and practised in front of the mirror for hours on end over the past week. Arthur gets the sense that Eames will probably appreciate his concision.

“Of course you are,” Eames says, and he smiles and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s almost as though he’s weary. Arthur searches his brain for something, a phrase that’ll help Eames understand what he’s saying. His mind lingers on a memory from the bar, and Arthur suddenly takes in their close proximity.

He shuffles closer, until his face is practically touching Eames’ and he says, “Can I kiss you?” Eames’s smile turns into a frown, and he moves backwards, back hitting his door with a decisive thud. And for a moment Arthur wonders if this was the wrong approach to take. Perhaps he should have gone with what Ariadne said and told Eames that he liked him, and spouted stuff about _ever after_ ’s. Or maybe he should have listened to Dom and listed his faults and his strong points, because quote, _Eames would definitely need a list at some point_.

Arthur really does need new friends.

He decides to prompt Eames again, and he gives him a questioning look.

“Well? Can I _kiss_ you?” He sees the moment that Eames gets it, eyes lighting up as the words hit home, and jolt some kind of switch.

“Do you really want to, darling?” Eames asks softly and Arthur’s face splits into a wide smile. Idly, he wonders if he looks like a maniac, but the soft look in Eames’ eyes pushes any worries away. 

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to,” he says and Eames rolls his eyes fondly.

Arthur kisses him before he can say anything else.

 

 


End file.
